


The Death of Earthworms

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, First Times, Humor, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:09:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some crime, some science, some humor, some angst, lots of love and friendship. At least I like to think so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Death of Earthworms

**Author's Note:**

> More post story, but for now, as always, this story is set some months post TSbBS (because I'm obsessed by the episode), and is a take on one of the earlier cases solved by Detectives Sandburg and Ellison. 
> 
> Warning, lots of bad language. Slash, I suspect h/c, but that seems sort of ridiculous. Angst. Humor. A little bit of everything. Call it a curry.   
> 

## The Death of Earthworms

by Spyke

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/spyke_raven>

Author's disclaimer: Pet Fly invented the characters of Jim, Blair and a couple of others in here. I make no money from playing with these people, only have lots of fun. 

* * *

** 

Stormy weather in Cascade, but Jim ran anyway. Perhaps because of the rain, he wasn't too sure. 

The wind hissed gently, stinging drops spraying against his face and splattering upwards from the puddles as he jogged, sneakers slapping lightly against asphalt and pavement, in beat and off beat. 

Jim loved the beat. 

He didn't run for exercise, preferring the routine of the gym since the sounds and contrasting smells of Cascade were normally too varied, too distressing for continued, concentrated action. But sometimes like this morning, he woke early with a need to move, to stretch his muscles and feel them pull in careful synchronicity, body in motion while his brain worked in alpha rhythm, senses quietly alert to monitor what he was a little ashamed to find he thought of as the heart of the city. 

Jim loved the beat. 

Blair called it an instinctual urge to patrol the perimeters of his territory, but Jim shrugged off that explanation. His route was rarely the same twice, and sometimes he only jogged in concentric circles with 852 Prospect at the center. 

One day, Blair swore, one day Jim was going to have to wake him up so that they could run together and get to the bottom of this insane urge to jog miles in the dark, but Jim just grinned and never did. If he admitted the truth to himself, it was because he liked this time alone, just him and his city, in sync and quiescent. 

Maybe Blair understood, because he didn't push it, only bought Jim a windbreaker with his first month's pay, and slipped a slim card case containing emergency contact numbers into the pocket just in case Jim zoned. 

The case bumped lightly against his hip as Jim jogged, taking a swift left and cutting across Dalton Way to get to the waterfront. 

The wind shifted, growing stronger, throwing a scent medley of fish-salt and human waste straight at him, driving acid water and cold spikes of air into his unprepared space. Jim winced, and picked up the pace, wondering why he was running smack _into_ the foulest smell he'd ever encountered apart from Blair's herbal distillations, but determined to finish the damn run and get home and have a hot shower. 

Closer to the waterfront now and the harbor was almost as deserted as the streets. A few boats tied to the piers, but no sign of any early morning fishing. Probably just as well, since the water was choppy, gray and blowsy enough to match the 5 am sky. 

The rain grew heavier, water slapping him across the face. Jim dialed down touch almost automatically, pulling the jacket's hood over his head for protection. Just once across the piers, just to check and then he'd dial a cab or something. 

_Wind shift_

A familiar ugly tang in the breeze and damned if he wasn't suddenly sure of the reason why he had had to jog today. 

Jim slowed down and shaded his eyes, trying to filter out unnecessary details, just focusing on the water, on the sodden lump maybe fifty, seventy feet out, bobbing up and down unhappily. 

Yep. 

Shit. 

He pulled out his cell, and called dispatch. 

"Detective Ellison, badge 733, calling to report a body floating off pier 53." He grimaced. "Yes, ma'am, dead. We need a team here ASAP, alert the coast guard because they're going to have to drag for her. Current's against us." He cocked his head. "I'll be here. Thank you." 

The body in the water seemed to dip in time to his words. Fighting down the bitter taste of bile, he signed off and dialed the loft. 

Blair picked up on the fifth ring. 

"Sandburg." 

"It's me. I'm at the waterfront, pier 53. There's a body in the water." He craned his neck slightly to get a better look, licking dry lips to help form words. "Female, dead, bloated and being washed away by the current. I called dispatch already, they should be here soon." 

Complete silence. 

"Blair?" 

A long gust of breath, not even a sigh. "Jesus." 

"No, Ellison, and don't whistle into the damn phone." 

Sudden crack of thunder and Jim whipped his head around, one hand clapped to his already sensitized ear, the other clutching the phone reflexively. 

"Jim? Jim!" 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay, I'm here." He started jogging back to the nearest available shelter, a rickety tin-metal shed constructed for God-knew-what reason. The line crackled with static and he felt a warning tingle in his fingers, sensitive to a building charge. "Talk fast." 

"Fuck, Jim, you're what, in the rain? Okay, okay, tell you what, I'll be there in thirty." Pause and Jim could hear the mental calculations. "Twenty-five if I take the truck." 

"Fine," the word came out more clipped than necessary and Jim made an effort to soften his tone. "Just bring clothes, Sandburg, I'm freezing here." 

"Clothes, waterfront, pier 53 and tell me you took your gun." 

"I have my gun." 

"Be there in thirty." Soft rasp, and Jim imagined Blair was rubbing his chin ruefully. "Damn it, Jim, we were just getting caught up on the paperwork." 

Jim grinned as he reached shelter. "Yeah, wouldn't you know it." He had to hunch slightly to fit in under the rusty eaves. "I already laid my clothes out on my bed," 

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry." Was that glee in his partner's voice? 

"Sandburg..." 

"How often do I get to dress you?" Blair asked rhetorically before hanging up. 

Jim looked at the phone morosely before consigning it to his pocket. Water dripped off the top of his head, hitting his nose in derisive _thunks_. 

"Shut up," he muttered, pushing the hood back and steeling himself to look out again. 

The body was further away now, blanketed by the steady downpour that made Jim splutter and retreat hastily into his corner. Luckily he could hear a distant thug-a-chug that signaled a kamikaze coast guard boat. 

Better them than me. You're a brave man, Charlie Brown... 

He shook his head and settled down to wait, wondering if he should be worrying more about Blair's taste in clothes or his driving skills. 

Another splat of water hit him as the wind changed direction again. 

Maybe he'd just concentrate on the tickle in his nose. He fucking _hated_ colds. 

** 

When Blair finally pulled up, huddled in a huge floppy raincoat and holding a thermos full of coffee, Jim was holding an umbrella over himself and Serena Chang, too busy sneezing at the forensics officer to do more than spare a cursory gasp for his partner. 

"Not flannel," as he struggled to keep Serena's huge gray umbrella from blowing inside out. He made a quick recovery, earning a smile of thanks from the lady and a gratuitous shift closer that reversed when Jim sneezed. 

"Geez." Blair used his free hand to pat himself down for tissue. "Nope, out of luck. On the other hand, Jim, flannel might be just what you need to keep you snug and warm." 

"Lint tickles," mumbled Jim, turning back to Serena, who was now standing with her back to him, shading her eyes with one hand in an attempt to make out just what was happening on the water. 

"Is there space?" asked Blair, squeezing in anyway. "Hi Serena, looking good. Coffee?" 

"No thank you," she smiled back at him. "Jim?" 

Jim glared balefully at his partner, who poured him a generous cup full. "Twenty-five minutes, you said." 

"You wanted to wear flannel?" Blair grinned. "Relax, only the clothes you laid out your very own self, and unlike you, they're snug and warm in the back of the truck. So, what's happening?" 

Jim inhaled the coffee, closing his eyes in a temporary oasis of bliss. "They're having some problems hauling it in. The wind's too strong." 

Serena shivered. "You can say that again. Excuse me," as her car phone shrilled. She waved the umbrella away chivalrously and jogged back to the safety of her vehicle and the waiting team. 

Blair turned to watch. Jim snorted. 

"Make yourself useful and pour me another." 

Blair did, agreeably taking the umbrella from his sodden partner and managing to keep it at least half an inch above Jim's head. "You're in a good mood. What happened?" 

"I was jogging." 

"Around the waterfront? When there've been three storms in the past week? Does the term CSO mean anything to you?" 

Combined sewer overflow, also known as the shit of centuries. Jim shuddered as the stench bypassed his mental blocks, hit his olfactory receptors and made him clutch his cup like life support. "Don't remind me." 

"Aw man," Blair was instantly contrite. "I'm sorry, can you filter it out?" 

In reply, Jim inhaled coffee ferociously. Blair let him calm down before asking, "Was your spider sense tingling again?" 

"My _spider_ sense as you call it, is crawling up my neck and into my goddamn skin." 

"Jim," Blair blinked in sudden comprehension, "You look like hell, man." He stepped back to get a better look, hit the ferocity of the storm and jumped forward in reaction, knocking against Jim and spilling coffee over the both of them. 

"Blair!" 

"Sorry," Blair licked away a trail of coffee that was making its way down his wrist, tongue flicking out in a business-like manner. He caught Jim staring. "What?" 

"Nothing." 

Blair shook his head. "Who asked you to go running in the rain, huh? You're asking for flu, you know. All this stuff in the air - Jim, man, you're turning red. Are you in any pain?" 

Jim growled. "Some. Now." 

"Hmm. The jacket's waterproof, but your hair is wet." Blair tilted his head but wisely didn't reach out to feel Jim's forehead. "You feel any infection coming on? The little white blood cells arranging themselves in formation?" he wiggled his fingers for emphasis. "Anything?" 

"Jesus, Blair, I can't feel my own cells move!" Jim wrinkled his forehead. Then again, his skin was twitchy. Itchy. 

"Can I?" he asked, slightly humbled. 

Blair shrugged. "Wouldn't know. There does seem to be an inherent contradiction there but - hey, are you choking up?" 

"Yes!" 

"Okay, okay, just hang in there, okay? I might have a breath mint or something...no, damn. Serena?" he called out to the woman who was striding briskly back to them. She answered him with a little wave, but waited until they were cloistered under the umbrella before speaking. 

"The boat just checked in. They've got her and should be docking in a few." 

"Great, great...got a breath mint? Not for me, for Jim." 

Stifling a grin at Jim's scowl, Serena kindly offered them both a pack of strong mints. "I have some Vicks I use to block out the you know. Want some?" 

Jim ate the mint, applied Vicks gratefully, and sniffed to check nasal passages for clarity. Pleasantly numb. Yeah. 

Blair grinned in triumph and tucked the thermos under his arm, using his free hand to chafe the palm wrapped around the umbrella. "Whew. Cold day, huh?" 

"Says the man wrapped in three layers of flannel - and my raincoat." 

"Hey, hey, no peeking, man!" Blair chuckled but Serena looked a little grim as Jim sneezed again, considerately turning his head away from them so he wouldn't splatter them with second-hand coffee. 

"Jim? Are you alright?" 

"Yeah." Jim straightened up and blinked a couple of times. "Flu." 

Serena nodded sympathetically and they all turned to watch the boat come in. It docked unsteadily thanks to the rough water. A couple of men in uniform and bright orange jackets dismounted and began the process of unloading. 

"Here we go," Blair muttered, gripping the umbrella tightly. 

"Cheer up." Jim snapped the lid back on the thermos and slung it over his neck. 

"Easy for you to say, Mr. Blocked Nose." Blair held the umbrella so the three of them could move forward, except the object of his gallantry didn't notice, leaving the men far behind as she stalked towards her assignment, just two steps behind the photographer. 

Blair shook his head. "What passion." He looked up. "Then again, when you think of what she does for a living, it's kind of ghoulishly - exciting, in a way. Yeah." 

Jim snorted. "Ring finger, _Detective_." 

They moved in tandem, Jim still sneezing every few minutes, careful not to crowd as the techs performed their routine. 

The body was - blue. And dead. It had been in the water long enough for the skin to peel away, despite which the huge gash on the temple certainly didn't look accidental. 

"Female, wet suit, I'd say young." After the first gulp, Blair had been cataloguing his own impressions in an undertone. "No tanks; bet you a million it was her diving buddy. I don't have a million, which makes it a safe bet. Jim?" 

Jim tried focusing but only came up with a severe case of odor-overdose. "Shit," he muttered. "What's that around her waist?" 

Serena answered. "Sample vials." She crinkled her nose fastidiously. "You might actually be right about the first." Her fingers lingered at the corpse's neck, making slight squishy noises that Jim tried desperately not to hear. Dial down dial down... 

"ID tags," Serena said with some satisfaction, delicately lifting out a chain from which a couple of laminated cards dangled. Reading, "Carol... Jennings. PTU. 

"Oh..." Blair inhaled. "Pacific Tech. has a marine toxicology program." 

Jim glanced at him. 

They watched silently, letting the techs take care of whatever had to be done. Actually Jim watched Blair watch Serena, waiting for it. 

"Right." Serena snapped off her gloves. "I think we can move her to the morgue now." After a fraction of time, she exhaled. "Poor kid." 

As the last tech hopped into the van, Blair sighed. "So she's a little... distant at times. Her heart's in the right place." His smile widened fractionally. "Other things too." 

Jim cuffed the back of Blair's head. "She's _married_." 

Blair raised his eyebrows. "You think I don't know that?" He reached into his pocket, took out his ID and flipped it open. "There, see? _Detective_ Blair Sandburg." He put his wallet back, smile gone a little strange. "Shall we?" 

Feeling like a minor piece of crap but not entirely certain why, James Ellison followed his partner back to the truck. 

He absolutely would not however, let Blair drive. 

** 

Wrapped in flannel and looking over his partner's shoulder as Blair's fingers flew across the keyboard, Jim stifled his zillionth sneeze of the morning and reached disconsolately for his mug of chamomile tea. 

"It's good for you," Blair murmured sotto voce. "Ah..." as he pulled out the ID file. "Ah." He sighed. "Carol Jennings, University of New South Wales, majoring in chemistry, special minor in applied toxicology, here since last year on an exchange program." 

Jim snorted and rummaged for more tissue as Simon entered, doing a double take at the sight of his detectives present as early as 7.30 a.m. 

"Jim?" 

"Hey Simon." Blair smiled and Jim honked, waving slightly. "Jim found a body while jogging down at the waterfront." 

"Ah. Jim found a body." Simon walked over to the desk, shaking his head. "And who was it? Andy Papazian? The son of Leo Kessler?" 

"College student. Carol Jennings," Jim managed before sneezing explosively in his captain's directions. "'Scuse me," hearing only Simon's outraged "Ellison!" and the beginnings of Blair's soothing diatribe before he reached the men's room where he coughed up several pounds of phlegm and was thoroughly sick. 

When Jim finally looked up from the sink, Blair was there, handing him a paper towel, one hand cupping Jim's elbow, the other if not actually tracing circles on his back to calm him, definitely hovering. 

Blair waited till Jim wiped his face and spat clean before stating, "I'm taking you home. Simon gave you a sick day." 

Jim pretended to be pulling another towel from the dispenser, leaning just so that the wall and some of Blair supported his weight. "What about you?" 

Blair shrugged. "Put you to bed, make a trip down to Pacific Tech, hopefully but not likely collect the autopsy report later. The usual." 

"Need my cell," Jim muttered as Blair led him out of the washroom. 

"Got all you need, buddy. C'mon, we're going home." 

** 

Blair drove carefully, carefully enough that Jim could actually take the elevator up to the loft, enter his home and make his way to the bathroom like a gentleman before collapsing over the toilet. 

He came up gasping for air and reached out for water, felt wet fabric handed to him and heard the soft sound of Blair in paternal voice intertwine with nausea and blanket the burning on his face. 

"Okay, Jim? Jim?" 

Jim threw the towel away in frustration, the snarls of fabric and splats of water doing nothing to alleviate the prickliness of his skin. So Blair helped him upright and supported him while Jim splashed water onto his face, splashed and splashed until it became a meaningless rhythm and his hands were held in a warm, rough but still tolerable grip and nonsense words were crooned, telling him to let go, to stop feeling. 

"Down, it's alright, okay, I got you; you just have to listen to me, okay Jim? Yeah? So we're just going to walk out of here and we'll put you down on the couch and trust me, we'll get something to stop the burning \- it's burning, right? Your skin hurts, doesn't it? Don't worry man, we'll make it better, now just lean on me and yeah, that's right - careful, towel, don't worry, I'll clean it up, let's go this way, okay?" 

Jim was half helped, half cajoled onto the couch, where he lay, vision blurring in and out, the skin on his face detached and fiery while the rest of him watched from inside, watched as Blair came back with cotton swabs and a bowl of something, something white and - 

"Milk?" he rasped and Blair chuckled. 

"Hypo-allergenic and since water's not doing you any good probably the best thing for your skin right now. Just lie back and relax, okay?" 

"Wha' e'er happen' t' aloe ver' ..." Jim's mumble was cut off by a gentle swipe of soaked cotton on his parched and flaking lips. 

Oh... cool... 

Jim shut his eyes involuntarily. He could do cool, cool was good... It felt good, the soft strokes that didn't press or irritate his skin any further, and after a while Jim let his mind drift shut too, letting Blair work on him, lightly soothing the pain with the pads of his fingers and the softest tones of his voice. 

Jim slept. 

And woke with slices of cucumber on his eyes. 

"Don't eat those," Blair said, before returning to whoever was on the phone with him. "Yeah, that's right, thank you so much. Great, so 7th floor, the Mendel building, and its the fifth room on the right. Thank you so much, Dr. Takamura, we really appreciate you seeing us at such short notice." He hung up, shaking his head at Jim. "They named a chemistry block after Mendel? Someone's not been reading their history." 

Jim merely held the green discs up in challenge, one in each hand. Blair spread his hands, stalling. 

"You should have seen yourself, Jim, I was this close to calling Mercy General. And they've done wonders for your eye bags too." He grinned. "You look better now, admit it, you do feel better." 

Jim reached out for Kleenex and wrapped the offending vegetable in a tissue. "Tongue's a bit furry, but yeah, I feel better." He looked up and caught Blair watching him. "Thanks." 

"You're welcome," Blair said softly, and Jim was suddenly aware that his cheeks were sticky. He rubbed his index finger tentatively over the surface to check the residue. 

"You used whole milk?" 

Blair chuckled, not quite breaking the mood. "Only the best for you, man, and you know it." 

"Sandburg," Jim paused, realizing that his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed. "Who's Dr. Takamura?" 

"She's in charge of PTU's exchange program with New South Wales. Just identified Carol's body. She seems understandably overwrought." 

"What time are we meeting her? Do I have time to shower?" 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Blair moved forward as Jim rose off the couch. "WE are not going anywhere. _I_ am going down to PTU to talk to Professor Takamura, but you, my friend, are staying home and getting a decent day's sleep. C'mon Jim," 

"Blair," Jim said mildly, one hand poised on the bathroom door, "You're not following me in here." 

Blair reached out and pushed the door open, gesturing triumphantly. "Look at that! Look at you!" 

"I'm - fine," Jim said vaguely, trying not to shudder at the blotched visage in the mirror. He opened his mouth for inspection and grimaced at the sight that met his eyes. "M' tongue's jus' a li'l fuzzy." 

"Yeah, all of you is fuzzy and that includes your brain." Blair cuffed Jim's shoulder half-heartedly. "Look, you're obviously suffering from an allergic reaction and you're coming down with a cold and that lowers your body's natural resistance. All I'm saying is that you should get some sleep, pop a couple of vitamin pills and trust me to handle the questions today, okay?" 

"I'll be fine, just give me a couple of minutes to shower." Jim sneezed for emphasis. 

Blair shook his head. "At least take some niktabi root." 

"At least get out of here and let me shower." 

"Need any help?" Blair froze on the last word. 

Jim blinked. 

Blair leaped into motion, palms waving in some form of agitated semaphore. "Because you're uh, you look weak. Weaker. Weakening. I'm just going to go and make you some extract of zin qai, okay? It's also great for muscle tone." The door slammed behind him. 

Jim stared at his reflection for a minute before very, very slowly peeling off his clothes. 

** 

Blair was right about one thing. Flannel was warm and comforting when worn over another shirt; despite the lint Jim could actually feel the congestion ease in his throat. On the other hand the herbal extract tasted disgusting, but as Blair was fond of saying; that was half the battle. He was still arguing the point in the elevator up to Professor Takamura's floor. 

"You know, most rural or tribal cultures still think of medicine in a holistic context, linking external attributes with internal prowess. So if it doesn't emit a powerful aroma or fill the room with purple fumes then it's just not strong enough to do you any good." 

"Oh, this is powerful stuff, Chief. Trust me." 

"Here," Blair handed him a couple of cloves and held the door open for a couple of kids who'd been listening to them with some amusement. "Chew on those, they'll make you feel good." 

"No thank you," Jim passed them back. 

"Jim, those are natural breath fresheners." 

"I wouldn't _need_ breath freshener if I hadn't drunk that goddamn shit you told me was cold medicine." 

"Whoa, language, or I'm never taking you out again." 

Jim patted his pocket. "He whose car is in garage should not insult him with truck keys." 

Blair shot him a dirty look that changed into a wide grin as the elevator doors opened, revealing a corridor very full of pretty college students. "Hey..." 

Jim snagged Blair's collar and pulled him along, scattering blinding smiles at the grinning throng, "Excuse us, sorry, excuse us, I AM sorry -" stopping at #07-09 and saying loud enough to be overheard, "This had better be the last hearing you call me in for, Chief. I thought we were finished with the PTA." 

Blair bared his teeth, casting apologetic grins at the occasional look directed their way. "Fuck you, Ellison," he whispered, knocking politely on the door. 

Dr. Takamura opened the door herself. Not too tall, early fifties, obviously keeping herself under a great deal of control. 

"Dr. Takamura? I'm Detective Sandburg and this is my partner, Detective Ellison." Blair paused, waiting for the invite. "Uh, we spoke on the phone?" 

The professor came to herself with a start and opened the door, motioning the detectives through. "I'm sorry, yes, I do apologize, Detectives. Carol's... the news has been a great shock to me." She waved them to a couple of seats and took her own place behind the desk. "You see I ... am a personal friend of the family. And having to identify - her..." 

Blair nodded sympathetically. "This must be a very difficult time for you." After a suitable pause Blair slipped into a familiar routine of question and answer, eyes warm and sincere, his body language screaming 'empath, empath'. 

Feeling slightly left out and Neanderthal, Jim looked around the room unobtrusively, noting the dcor was early chemistry professor. Shelves full of Toxicon, Biochimica acta Biophysica, Journal of Chemical Engineering; desk cluttered with paperwork and some photo frames, in the corner a bookshelf with random brightly colored volumes and for book-ends... 

Jim blinked. Worms and lobsters cavorted lazily in formaldehyde, spinning in obscene cheer. 

Or something was spinning. 

He put his hand to his forehead, massaging lightly and shifted his attention to the Q&A. 

"So you suggested Carol come to Cascade?" Blair's voice was soft and understanding, but Dr. Takamura stiffened visibly. 

"Yes..." she looked down and seized gratefully on a pen, twisting it between her fingers. "I... I just informed her parents. They'll be here tomorrow." She swallowed. "You... you're certain it couldn't have been an accident?" 

Instead of answering, Blair put on his glasses and took out a notebook. Jim took a look and groaned mentally. Not again... Sandburg had covered yet another department issue book in his fuzzy tribal printed cloth. 

Blair smiled at the good doctor, indicating the notebook in all innocence. "Do you mind if I write a few things down? Just so we can keep the facts straight?" 

Jim waited for the demand to see proof of sanity. Strangely enough, Dr. Takamura released the pen, leaned back slightly and attempted a smile. Perhaps the glasses reassured her. 

"Please. Go ahead." 

"Right. Now, you know Carol's parents well?" 

"Yes. We did our PhDs in the same laboratory and we've collaborated over the years. Carol is - was an exceptional student and I know Carl and Dora hoped she'd continue the family tradition." Dr. Takamura's lips trembled. "She was a fine girl." 

The phone rang and Dr. Takamura excused herself to take the call. Blair nudged Jim's foot with his own, showing him a note reading 'reaction?' 

Jim scribbled back. 'So far so good.' 

'How 'm I doing?' 

Jim grinned. 'Keep talking' 

'Does this make me the Primary?' 

Dr. Takamura turned back as Jim stepped lightly on Blair's foot. "I'm sorry. Where were we?" 

Jim answered for his incapacitated partner. "Could you tell us more about Carol, what she did, who she knew? Anything would be helpful really." 

The woman sighed. "Well, she knew me. Let's see, she arrived in November, and I put her to work with Walter, Walter Matheson, he's one of my graduate students, I could introduce you to him later. She lived on campus, but I'm not certain who her friends were. Then again, she spent a lot of time in the laboratory; all the time she could, I suspect." She smiled reminiscently. "A real chip off the old block, especially about work \- I'm interested in toxins, natural and artificial. Carol's parents are marine biologists and we've done a lot of sampling in the Cascade Bay area, around the sewage lines so we can compare toxic levels with similar situations off the Australian coast. We all stopped eating sea food years ago." 

Jim decided he really hadn't needed to hear that. 

"We developed a nice efficient system to map the levels of toxicity near effluent lines. My graduate students capture lobsters and dissect them for their livers, which we puree and run through a spectral analyzer. We've demarcated the bay into grids and if you look behind you, we've a couple of graphs that map the pollutants and their diffusion through water." She waited as they took a look and smiled apologetically before continuing. "I'm sorry if this is too much information, but it might help you understand Carol's project." 

"No, this is great, please go on." Blair nudged Jim who was still looking distastefully at the red lines on the far wall. "So Carol collected lobsters?" 

"Not quite. There's a certain type of marine tubeworm that lives in Cascade waters. Its closest living relative is the earthworm, in that they both pass huge amounts of silt and soil through their digestive tract, concentrating it in effect. Earthworms move on, leaving the soil behind as casings. The Nereid on the other hand, anchors itself to one point and grows on, moving, chewing, excreting and using this concentrate to form tube like habitats. The problem with our lobster method of sampling is that it's third hand, depending on what the lobster prefers to eat and well... the digestive process also affects the results. Chemical breakdown... worms on the other hand are simple creatures, and we get to test the soil directly. Plus, lobster catching is tedious and expensive, though we do have accounts with some of the fishing boats... to put it simply, Walter takes land samples, Carol takes - took care of the marine angle. They had some interesting results... but you don't want to know about that, do you?" 

"Were they concentrating on any industries in particular? You mentioned factories?" 

Dr. Takamura grinned wryly. "You'd have to ask Walter. I could introduce you now if you like, unless there's something else you'd like to know?" 

Blair consulted his notes, while Jim shook his head slightly. "This is great, thank you. Could we meet Mr. Matheson now?" 

"He should be demonstrating a practical, but I'll substitute for him." The professor rose and they followed her out into the corridor now miraculously clear of co-eds. 

They paused at a half open door. "It's just two rooms down, ah, yes, I hear him..." She looked at them uncertainly and Jim smiled. 

"We'll just wait here while you send him out. Thank you, Dr. Takamura, you've been very helpful." 

She smiled in answer, her eyes suspiciously bright. "Just let me know if there's something else I can do." 

"Don't tell Walter why we're here," Jim said bluntly. 

Dr. Takamura paused, taken aback; then nodded slightly. "I... see. Yes. Thank you Detective." She took a deep breath and opened the door fully. 

Jim reeled. 

"What? What is it, man?" 

Blair's hand on his arm, Blair's voice - focus points for him to concentrate on, filter out the ugly stench, force down the rising goose bumps, concentrate, concentrate, focus, stay... 

"Jim? Jim, this is not good." 

"I'm fine," Jim inhaled, turning away from the laboratory. "Something... in there." His voice was firm now, he noted with pride. 

Blair sniffed. "Phenol. Chlorine. Normal lab smells," his brow furrowed as Jim laughed. "What?" 

"Thought I was the sentinel here." 

Blair shook his head. "The human nose is one of the most sensitive analytical instruments ever invented, you know. And not just yours, I'm talking generic." 

Jim ruffled Blair's hair, the pang of loss he used to feel at its new length subsumed by affection. "You're full of surprises aren't you?" 

"Yeah, yeah... is that what set you off this morning?" 

"Maybe. Yeah, I think so." 

Blair looked at him thoughtfully. "You have little beads of sweat on your forehead." 

"Thank you, I can feel them." 

"Hmm." Blair nodded decisively. " Can you hang on till we finish here or should I drive you to the doctor's now?" 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Jim's hands went up in automatic self-defense. "Doctor? YOU drive MY truck? Ix-nay." 

"Jim, don't be an idiot, okay, man? They're working on PCBs for crying out loud." Off Jim's frown, "Polychlorinated biphenyls. For pollutants they're pretty heavy shit you know, and eczema's gonna be the least of your worries if you're having some sort of allergic reaction to them \- now what? Oh, I get it." Blair shook his head sadly. "Jim, Jim, what's the point protesting deforestation and saving the whales unless you know exactly what you're talking about? Growing up with Naomi was an education in itself." 

"I can see that." Jim grinned. "But you're not driving my truck as long as I'm vertical." 

"Well, yeah, I guess twice in one day would be one for the record book. But we are going to Mercy General immediately after this." 

"Says you," and Jim had to swallow the rest of his statement as a tall, thin young man came out of the door, wiping his hands nervously on his stained gray lab coat. 

Phenol. Chlorine. Spider-tingle and creeping cells. So maybe Mercy General wasn't such a bad idea. 

"Walter Matheson?" Jim asked, concentrating. "I'm Detective Ellison and this is my partner Detective Sandburg. We'd like to ask you a few questions." 

Jim noted a slight skip in the man's heartbeat before it settled down to normalcy. 

"Is there somewhere we can talk?" Blair asked gently. Jim suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. It was a little early for good cop, bad cop. 

Matheson nodded, swallowed and gestured. "We could use that tutorial room. It's empty." 

The room was blessedly free of more than the normal share of vaporized substances found in any air-conditioned environment, so if Jim concentrated on filtering out Matheson, he was fine. Or would be, if his head would just stop throbbing so damn badly. 

Blair started the procedure again. "How well did you know Carol Jennings?" 

Walter's breathing hitched. "You found her? Is she...?" 

Jim leaned forward, ignoring the thump in his skull. "What are you saying, Walter?" 

Walter closed his eyes and seemed to be calming himself. "She hasn't been in for a couple of days, and I called, but she... no one was home and her neighbors haven't seen her either." He gulped again. "Is she okay?" 

"I'm sorry. Her body was found in the bay this morning." 

"Oh shit. No. Please, no..." Walter seemed on the verge of crying. Embarrassed, Jim looked the other way, waiting for the kid to pull himself together. He passed the time cataloguing heartbeat and respiratory rate, all of which seemed in sync with shock and grief. Also fear. Ah shit, human lie detector or not, some situations just weren't easy to interpret. 

Still... the kid did sound pretty torn up. 

"We need to ask you some questions, Walter, do you think you can help us?" 

Blair in paternal voice, guide voice, whatever voice, the tone that made Jim sit up straight and vow to be a better man. It worked on Walter too. 

"I'm sorry," Walter's breathing was more regular now and his words only wobbled slightly. "We were working on the same project and well, we were. Close." 

"Close?" 

"Oh, no, not that, that close. Good friends, that's all. Carol... Carol, she... we thought in the same way, you know? Not alike, but complementary," Walter gestured vaguely. "We worked really well together, I mean in less than 6 months, we had a toxic diffusion grid linked in three variables and we were this close to making it four." 

"Diffusion grid?" 

The question released a flood of information, Walter babbling in tense catharsis, Blair's brow furrowed as he tried to take notes. Jim just listened. 

"... see most factories release their effluent wastes in timed intervals, and their sewage lines have these grid holes evenly spaced along the pipe, so the wastes can flow out and dissipate over a larger area. So Carol looked for worm tubes situated near these holes, and we took samples at intervals and back calculated to find the actual concentration of pollutants being released daily, and half the stuff is like way over EPA regulations, which earlier studies did prove, but who the hell knows since the companies always claimed the sampling grid was affected by tidal shifts and currents, except with our worm tube idea we actually had a viable methodology that wasn't affected by these variables. Carol, she always thought - " Walter stopped, stricken. "Thought. Past tense. God." He gave a funny convulsive laugh. 

"Dr. Takamura mentioned you were concentrating on a few industries?" Jim interjected before the boy broke down. 

Walter looked momentarily thrown. "Er, yeah. Yeah, we were. Um, Mantle, United and Ergo, the plastics people. Our diffusion grid extrapolations indicated these places could be responsible for 30% of the PCB efflux into the bay, so we - we were attempting to establish parameters..." 

"... to confirm if they were complying with EPA regulations?" Blair prompted. 

Walter stared. "Yeah. Yeah exactly." He looked at Blair carefully, forehead wrinkling. 

Oh shit. Jim thought he recognized that look. 

"We heard you had some interesting results," Blair continued. "Care to share them with us?" 

Walter blinked and Jim heard his heart speed up. "Well, it's pretty up in the air, actually, but, uh, you may not get the technical implications." 

"Try us," Blair spread his hands and grinned easily. "Give us the layman's talk." 

Walter nodded, as though confirming something. 

"Well... our results aren't precisely inconclusive, but, um, Carol said she was going to speak to someone in Mantle about doing an internship... just for, you know, the extra information." He looked down. "If we were right, then, well, let's just say it could be pretty bad for Mantle." 

"Uh-huh." Jim's eyes narrowed. "And Dr. Takamura knows about this?" 

Walter shrugged and looked at Blair. 

"Mr. Sandburg?" he said slowly, trying the words out. "I think... I attended Philip Ayrman's course on neuro-physiological adaptation last year." 

Blair's smile glazed over for an instant. "Did you?" 

Walter nodded. "Yes sir." He paused. "You - guest-lectured, didn't you?" 

Pheromones, heavy musk, scent of sweat and taste of bile - was it fear or shock and who was it from? Jim inhaled reflexively, which turned out to be a bad idea. 

"Detective? Are you alright?" 

"Be right back." Jim got up, one hand on Blair's shoulder steadying him long enough to be able to leave carefully, walk sedately to the men's room at the end of the corridor where he was, again, thoroughly, burningly sick. 

When Blair met him outside, Jim silently handed him the keys to the truck. 

They drove home without speaking. 

** 

Blair handed Jim the phone. "Call McCoy now, or I'll do it myself." 

"Call your own damn doctor. I need a drink." 

"I'll make you some tea." 

"I'm drinking beer," said Jim succinctly, opening the fridge door, taking out a bottle and twisting it open in one fluid move, effectively meant to silence. It didn't work. 

Blair placed both hands on the counter behind Jim. "What the hell is wrong with you?" 

Jim swallowed his mouthful, tasting acid, spit, and tangy hops. "Nothing. What the hell is wrong with you?" 

"You're acting like an asshole. You're puking your guts out every second hour of the day, your face is flushed, you've sweated a hole through MY damn shirt and you're standing there drinking beer. What the fuck is wrong with you?" 

Jim shrugged off his outer shirt and balled it up, throwing it in Blair's direction. "Here." 

Blair clenched his fists around the fabric. "Jim. Talk to me." 

"We're talking." 

The shirt hit Jim on the back of his head. "Fucking repressed *dick *!" 

Jim pivoted very slowly, waiting till he faced Blair before clipping out the words. "I. Am not. Repressed. There is nothing that I am repressing." He ground his teeth. "Stop looking at me like that, Sandburg, I have a fucking cold, I'll get over it." 

Blair held up a hand, palm open, insinuatingly closing one finger per point. "One, a body found in Cascade Bay, a grad student with long black hair. Two, phenol and chlorine are common cleaning agents used to clear algae from ponds. Three? Someone who took a class with me last year just happened to be responsible for your third puke of the day. Conclusion?" he leaned forward and hissed. "Can you spell psychosomatic?" 

Jim's hand jerked, almost involuntarily dashing his beer in Blair's face. 

They froze, Jim trembling enough to shatter the bottle - why hadn't he dropped it? -, Blair standing there, eyes slit narrow, liquid dripping from his hair. 

Jim opened his mouth. 

"Don't. Even. THINK. Of saying something." 

Jim pressed his lips together as Blair reached up and wiped his eyes, baring his teeth in a parody of a grin. 

"That was not cool, Detective Ellison." Blair shook his head. "No, no, no. Not at all cool." He turned and went to the bathroom. Jim heard the sound of the tap running, and put the bottle down carefully on the counter. 

He stood there as Blair came out, headed for his room, changed his shirt and came back out, combing his hair. 

Blair slipped the comb into the pocket of his pants, and reached for his jacket. "If you need me I'll be at the station." He threw Jim a blazing smile. "Don't worry, I'll walk. Could use the exercise." 

Five minutes passed before Jim lunged for the fridge, grabbed another beer, kicked the door shut and looked at it. Then he felt for his keys before stalking out of the loft, taking two steps at a time in his hurry to get down. 

** 

Blair didn't look up as Jim tooled along, driving very, very slowly in order not to overshoot his partner. 

"Fuck off." 

Jim kept driving. Finally Blair looked up at him, eyes opaque. 

"Not funny, Ellison." 

Jim braked and got out of the truck. Blair kept walking. 

"Here," Jim said, coming up behind and holding out the beer. 

Blair turned, froze, then threw his head back and _yelled_. 

Jim waited, hand outstretched, wondering uncomfortably if laughter were supposed to sound like screaming. 

Finally Blair began gulping deep breaths of air, pointing at Jim and hooting. "You ASSHOLE!" 

More a laugh this time, Jim decided. 

"Asshole. Asshole!" Blair punched Jim's shoulder, punctuating each word with a blow that nearly hurt. "Ass. Fucking. Hole!" 

"Only for you, Chief," Jim murmured, the beginnings of a grin tugging at his mouth. 

Blair breathed rapidly, and grabbed the beer, shaking it threateningly. "I could take you up on the offer, but I hear beer's good for the hair." 

Jim inclined his head. "Could use all the help I can get." 

"All that testosterone and you're still balding. _Baldy_." 

"Doesn't matter how many pretty names you call me, I'm not letting you drive." 

"You and your phallic symbols of authority. Oh, fuck it Jim, Simon can owe you a sick day." 

They got in the truck. 

"I am not repressed," Jim said casually, turning the key in the ignition. 

Blair snorted. "Yeah, well not anymore you aren't." 

Jim stopped and turned to face his partner. 

"Just drive, Ellison." Blair patted his shoulder, contriving to get in another punch. "Just drive." 

Jim winced, shifting into gear. "They call that displacement activity." 

"Be happy I don't displace you." Blair's eyes gleamed. "When you're feeling better, old man, best out of three, whaddya say Jim, long time no 'wrasslin'' at the gym, huh?" 

"Only because I'm afraid of your mother, Sandburg." 

They reached the station in record time, arguing over handicaps and how many times and who had won each sparring match they'd ever challenged the other to. 

Simon was waiting at Jim's desk, hands clasped and a tight smile on his face. "Sandburg!" he bellowed, then stopped, puzzled as Jim entered behind Blair. "Ellison? Does the term sick day mean nothing to you?" 

"You can owe me one, sir." Jim slipped behind his desk. "What's the good word?" 

"Don't cough on my shirt," grumbled Simon, turning to Blair. "Ah, Blair. Care to join me in my office? You come too, Jim." He stood up and indicated the way with old-world courtesy. "Please." 

The partners followed, exchanging glances. 

Simon seated himself at his desk, clasping his hands tightly. "Have a seat. So. Jim found a body." 

Jim nodded. 

"The body of," Simon glanced at his notes, "Carol Jennings, 24 year old graduate student from the Australian University of New South Wales, only daughter and beloved child of Carl Jennings, Director of the Prince Edward Center for Marine Toxicological Studies." He looked up. "Gentlemen, do the words 'international incident' sound good?" 

Jim grimaced. Blair whispered under his breath. 

Jim wasn't sure, but it sounded like 'ut-oh'. 

Simon grinned nastily. "I received a call from the Commissioner. Apparently our Australian brothers are consoling the bereaved with the welcome news that Inspector Connor, one of their _finest_ is in Cascade on an exchange program. Except," and he leaned forward, "Except she isn't here, is she? Blair?" 

"Uh," Blair bent down. "Dropped a pencil." 

"Get back up here." Simon growled. 

Blair popped up, face flushed, and dropped a pencil on the desk. "No really, here. Come on, Simon, you gave her leave, how is this my fault?" 

Jim winced as Simon closed his eyes for strength. "Detective Sandburg, Connor is on a two week spirit walk in the goddamn Andes with no forwarding address and you're telling me this isn't your fault? You're telling me this wasn't your idea?" 

"No, it was hers, and _Appalachians_ , not the Andes, see, I did some genealogical tracing and we figured that since her great grandmother was two thirds -" 

"I don't care, damn it! Sandburg!" Simon gritted his teeth. "Sandburg. I've stalled the Commissioner, told him to tell his counterpart that the two best detectives on my team, who've _trained_ ," he emphasized the word maliciously, " _Trained_ under Connor's eagle eye, are on the case until she returns. So you'll be happy to know that we're not getting another transfer from Australia. What we are getting is a hell of a lot of pressure from the people upstairs. I need to know what you have on this." He paused hopefully. "Any chance this was accidental?" 

Jim shook his head. "Nope. Apart from what we dug up today, she was in a wetsuit, but she didn't have any tanks, and her skull was split wide open. Before you ask, sir, her blood smelt funny." 

"Her blood. Smelt funny." 

"I saw traces of metal embedded in the wound. Rusty flecks." Jim shrugged apologetically. "And the smell... maybe you could lean on forensics a bit?" 

Simon nodded. "Done. You should have the report tomorrow. What's that about you digging up stuff today?" 

"Blair?" Jim nudged his partner. 

"Uh, yeah. We spoke to Carol's advisor and her lab partner. Seems she was working on industrial pollution and may have found something shady." Blair shrugged. "We just came back to check in with you and talk to forensics. Mantle was our next stop." 

"The plastics people?" 

"Yeah." Blair paused. "Uh, sir? The Jennings' will be here tomorrow. Maybe you could lean on Forensics a bit more?" 

Simon grimaced. "Go ask some questions Detective. Unless Jim, you want to go down and take a look?" His face contorted as it always did when he attempted physical code for 'sentinel thing'. 

Blair interrupted before Jim could shake his head. "Uh, his cold, he can't uh, compensate for that. We'll get back to you as soon as we have something." 

"You'd better. Dismissed, gentlemen." 

Blair waited till they were back at their desk before muttering, "Her blood smelt funny." 

"I didn't realize until now, okay? I've been having trouble filtering." 

"Right." 

"And what was that about my not being able to compensate?" 

"Gee, I don't know Jim. How 'bout the fact that you've been suffering from repeated psychosomatic trauma every hour we've been on this case? Every _hour_? You don't think that might lead me to believe that your observations may not be entirely objective?" 

"Bull shit." Jim sat heavily on his chair. "And what about you?" 

"What about me?" 

"Oh, I don't know Blair. Maybe the fact that this case is grounded within the hallowed walls of a university leads _me_ to believe _your_ observations may not be entirely accurate either." 

"Fuck!" Blair pushed his chair away from the desk, almost careering into the wall. "I cannot believe you said that!" 

"Yeah? Join the club." 

"Okay, _stop_." 

Jim stopped, realizing that Blair had closed his eyes and was breathing tensely but regularly, clenching his fingers into a fist. Almost unconsciously, Jim started counting, matching breaths to the rhythm of Blair's fingers. 

One. Two. Three. Four... 

Blair opened his eyes. 

"Okay." 

"Okay?" 

Blair nodded. "Yeah." 

"Good." Jim shifted uncomfortably. 

Blair's eyes glittered. "Wanna hear it?" 

"You're going to make me, aren't you?" 

"Shut up, I'm speaking." 

Jim shut up and listened. 

"I am NOT pissed out of my skull because Walter Matheson attended a lecture that I gave a year ago. Surprised, a little unsure how to deal with it, but NOT angry. I _am_ pissed because you're acting like an asshole and I still want to punch your lights out for the whole beer thing. I am also very, very irritated by the fact that all of Australia is going to think I _trained_ under Megan O Connor, who is a beautiful person but a very, very rash dresser." He breathed, breathed again and almost smiled on the second exhalation. "Yeah..." 

Jim grinned unwillingly and offered his own two cents. "I'm pissed because we're talking about this in the bull pen. Okay, whispering, but still." He lowered his voice. "And I am not repressed." 

Blair barked in laughter. "Fine. What now?" 

Jim got up. "The morgue and then Mantle." He glanced back at Blair. "Come on," he said softly, realizing he was asking, not stating. 

After a breath, Blair's lips moved. 

"Sure, man." 

** 

_This is not Blair_

Funny how a single thought can anchor you to reality. 

*This is not Blair. This is an arm, a leg, a face, a body, but this is not Blair* 

"We'll be fine, if you could just give us a minute?" Blair speaking softly in the background, motioning away the morgue attendant, his body only inches away from Jim's, so Jim could focus, focus on the way the air breathed, shifting currents around Blair, coming to him warm and scented with the flavor of his partner's sweat and nameless pheromones. Focus allowed shifts, rational shifts that let him dig deep and find a core of strength, strong enough when shored up by this friend, strong enough to let go and dive into someone else's death. 

_Touch_

Blair touched him, a hand on his elbow, a quiet question, "Okay?" 

Jim nodded, and exhaled. 

"Fine. Let's do it this way," Blair considered. "You said the blood smelt funny?" 

"Yeah," and Jim filtered, imagining his mind as a net in which he captured scent-memory, releasing some and retaining others. Rust, lead, no... iron, was that rust again, too confusing, too large, so he made the holes smaller, hearing in tandem Blair's quiet breathing that anchored him and reminded him he was more than a conglomerate of molecules himself. 

Sharper and deeper now, as Jim tasted blood. 

Blood... blood was copper and bite, and in this case prickly; sense-memory, scent-memory causing his face to prickle and itch, itching like chlorine and a taste that hurt his tongue. Deep enough, Jim told himself, deep enough, come up. 

He swam up to the touch of a man's hand on his elbow and Blair breathing on his back. 

"Chlorine," Jim said after a moment, trying not to stagger into his friend's clasp. "The funny smell is chlorine and something else, I don't know what." 

Blair's eyebrows rose. "Chlorine." 

"Yeah." 

Blair puffed his cheeks out, frustrated. "Well, yeah, chlorine. She drowned in the bay, didn't she? The water's shit full of chlorides and PCBs and god knows what, so chlorine. You could just be sensing the water she inhaled. 

Jim considered this carefully before shaking his head. "No... there's something different, damn it, I can't put it in words, but she just smells wrong. And I don't mean how the blood chemistry changes after death... I think she was drugged." 

"Okay. Okay. But you can't say exactly." 

Jim shrugged. "I'm not exactly a human crime lab." 

"Hey. Hey!" The grip on Jim's elbow tightened. "One asshole between the two of us is enough. I'm sorry, okay?" 

"Yeah." Jim smiled slightly. "Wish I knew more about drugs. Maybe we should run me through a sniff test sometime, what do you say?" 

"I say that if it had been me who suggested that..." 

Jim reached out to pat Blair's cheek. "It wasn't." 

They stood like that, connected for a moment until the moment grew and Jim realized it existed. 

Blair removed his grip from Jim's elbow and rubbed his hands together. "Right." 

"Right." 

"Mantle?" 

"Right." 

"Yeah." But Blair still looked a little lost, so Jim tried again. 

"Want to look for Serena?" 

Blair shook his head. "Nah. Let Simon do the leaning." 

Jim decided he felt woozy enough to let Blair drive them. 

** 

"So who's our contact in Mantle? Keep your eyes on the road." 

Blair rolled his eyes, deliberately glancing sideways while taking the next left. Jim bit his lip and hung on grimly, telling himself Sandburg might be an asshole but he was a safe driver. 

Christ. 

"Audrey Lee, Senior Vice-President in charge of Personnel." Thankfully Blair was looking straight ahead again. 

Jim whistled through his lips. "Isn't that a little high for an intern?" 

"Not for this intern. Her daddy _is_ ," Blair made little quote marks with his fingers, "Carl Jennings, Director of the Prince Edward Center for Marine Toxicological Studies. Mantle has an international clientele." 

"Steering wheel." Jim gritted. 

"Uh-huh." Blair eased on the accelerator. "Jim, shut up and let me drive, okay?" 

"Okay, okay." 

After a decent pause Jim reminded Blair that he'd passed their exit three blocks behind. Only slightly sheepish and swearing he knew a shortcut, Blair turned the truck around. 

Woozy or not, Jim made up his mind that he was going to be driving home. 

** 

Ms. Lee was shocked, shocked, _shocked_ to hear of Carol's death. She was so quietly but intensely shocked and understatedly eager to help in any way possible, Jim felt he should be nominating her for a Public Relations Award. Then again, he supposed she had to get some practice before the newshounds dropped in. 

"... We were really looking forward to Carol joining us. She was such a bright young girl." 

Blair nodded, pen ready and the blessed notebook open. "You take interns on a regular basis?" 

"Yes. It's one way of headhunting, early screening, if you like. We make our selections very carefully from the candidates - you see, we have a lot of applicants since Mantle is an internationally recognized firm. Carol was an exceptional prospect. Apart from meeting all the requisite criteria, she was already well versed in chemical analyses and seemed very interested in our R&D program. While she wouldn't have been allowed to actually participate in most of our major projects, none of our interns are, she might have been allowed to do a small scale investigation on her own time." 

"And had Carol suggested any topic of particular interest to her?" 

Audrey pursed her lips. "She had some intriguing ideas on a new polymeric compound we're testing for computer casings - I can't give you specifics of course." 

"Of course." Blair made a note. "So she was interested in your manufacturing system?" 

"And in observing our development and marketing strategy." 

"Would she have been allowed to?" 

Audrey shrugged. "Some of it, yes. We encourage creativity and an interest in all facets of our organization, regardless of the level of entry." 

"Ah. You're saying Carol would have been welcome to join your organization?" 

"If the internship proved to be mutually satisfying, yes." Her lips thinned slightly. "As I said before, it's a common procedure used by most companies." 

Jim spoke up for the first time. "Congratulations on your new venture, Ms. Lee," nodding towards a laminated flyer that adorned her tack board, "A partnership with Omega... big Australian firm, aren't they?" 

She met his gaze coolly. "Thank you. Yes, they are." Making the words a deliberate challenge that Jim refused to take, only smiling politely as Blair finished the routine. 

As they were walking out Jim shook his head slightly. 

"What?" 

"Not them. For one thing, they needed Jennings. She'd have made great PR." 

"And the second thing?" 

"Second thing... this isn't about industrial cover-ups and espionage. That's for novels, not real life. Besides, a couple of grad students working on a summer project suddenly discover a major chemical company's not complying with EPA regulations? That's not even a minor threat. Who'd listen to them anyway?" 

"Who indeed." Blair's tone was neutral. 

Shit. 

"You forget Carol has some pretty hefty support from leading authorities in the field." Blair pointed out. "Even if they were all in the family." 

Jim rubbed his chin, feeling prickles and wondering if it was possible for skin to become too tight for a skull. "I don't know, Blair, except I think we're barking up the wrong tree." 

"Jim, man, you're using metaphors. Are you feeling alright?" 

"Yes, yes, yes. Think we're done for the day?" 

Blair's eyes narrowed. "Well, yeah... since we won't get the Forensics report till tomorrow. You wanna go home?" 

"Yeah." 

"You're not feeling sick again, are you?" 

"No. Keys." 

"Shut up." 

In the end, Blair drove. 

** 

Jim didn't throw up again or anything, but he was tired, so tired when they reached home that he almost collapsed onto the couch, closing his eyes and thanking God that Blair wasn't asking him questions, just taking his shoes off gently and placing his feet carefully on the couch. 

The loft was darkened, lights down and Santana at background volume so Jim could nap. Floating halfway between dreams and wakefulness, he could hear Blair talking softly on the phone, realized it was probably McCoy on the line, but he was too damn tired to actually get up and say he didn't need a second opinion. 

"...no, no, I know what anaphylactic shock is, yeah, I'm paying attention. No, I used milk to sponge him off. Yes, milk. I think water aggravated the burning, but then he had a shower afterwards." Soft exhalation. "I know, I know, but hey, remember what the old man always said? One is a hypothesis; two is proof. Okay, so maybe I'm paraphrasing him a bit, but - yeah." A chuckle. "Uh huh. Okay. Creams? You must be joking, he has this sulfa sensitivity." Another pause as Blair wrote something down. Jim could hear the scratch of pen on paper, why had he never realized how soothing it was, a regular arrhythmia in counterpoint to heart beats. 

Jim thought he heard someone's heart beating. Perhaps his own. 

"...yeah, well thanks, I really appreciate this. No, really, I do. Thanks. Yeah, that'd be great. You too. Bye." Blair put the phone down and walked over to the couch. 

Jim opened one eye. "You'd better not be putting any more salad on me, Sandburg." 

Blair grinned. "Oh no, no, just milk." 

"No." 

"Grouch. Move over," and Blair sat down, hip half off the sofa, apparently able to see Jim perfectly in the semi-darkness. "How're you feeling?" 

"Better." 

"Tongue fuzzy?" 

"Tongue great." 

"Mm, okay. How 'bout some dinner?" 

"Mm." Maybe. Words took too much energy to form. 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah?" Long drawn out and slow, it came out as a sigh, *yeeeeaaaahhh...* 

"Dinner?" 

"Dinner..." 

Blair grinned. "Jim my man, are you high on something?" 

"Maybe," and Jim reached out, seeing perfectly that Blair was wearing glasses, his dork glasses and short hair and tribal prints with warm fuzziness and was that cause or effect? Maybe Jim _was_ high, very high on something because he felt like he was floating on an sea of contentment, of short warm contentment as he reached out, to and under the frames of Blair's glasses, felt a finger slide into the space between polymer and skin, touching and tracing the softness of flesh, learning the hollow under Blair's left eye. 

Blair inhaled, eyelashes fluttering, leaving butterfly pricks on the pad of Jim's finger. 

"Mm..." Jim hummed because he felt a tiny throbbing pulse under his fingertip, a little vein that jumped and danced at his touch and it didn't seem fair that it sang alone. And oh, yes that was nice too, the sensation of dip and swell, the contour of Blair's face just above the cheekbone, as Jim traced the ebb of flesh. 

"Jim..." ah, that was such a necessary sound, Blair's voice sounding throaty, like the syllables came from way inside him, deep and dark, right down to the essence of Blair. Had he ever heard Blair's voice darken before? No, Jim decided, he couldn't have, or he would have remembered. 

"Jim," at least Jim thought he heard his own name, but then Blair leaned forward so Jim had to replace his finger with a thumb, hand cupped around Blair's head, not drawing it, but following as Blair moved, downwards and so, displacing air in a sweet, gentle rush before touching Jim's forehead with his own. 

So warm and real when their foreheads touched, and Jim felt the press of skin against skin 

He inhaled. 

One breath didn't seem deep enough so Jim took another and then another, relaxing and letting sensation grow, build from almost non-existence into full clarity. First, the touch and pressure against his skin, the hint that there was contact, not a verb but a noun. Second, the slight layering of air that indicated Blair wore his glasses and was carefully avoiding imprinting them onto Jim's face, though Jim wouldn't have minded, in fact maybe he should ask. He thought he'd like to feel some of Blair etched on his skin even if only for the moment... but the lightness of non-touch segued gently into the slight dampness of Blair, his forehead warm softness that felt alive, so blessedly whole and alive, releasing aromas, little whiffs of Blair that cocooned Jim, encircled them both, replacing sense and scent memory with something far more real, thank God Blair was real. 

Displacing his nightmares. 

Jim felt hands around his face, cupping his cheek. Blair's hands were holding them together just as Jim was holding on. It felt right, thought Jim, it felt so god damned _right_ to do this. 

And safe... 

Blair sighed and shifted, breaking the slightest bit away. 

In that instant Jim became aware of the juxtaposition of their lips, of the fact that Blair's cheek was near his mouth, that if he wanted \- and he squashed that thought ruthlessly, refusing to acknowledge it or the thousand others that followed. 

But maybe Blair read his mind because he sighed again and moved, letting go and moving away, hands slipping down off Jim's face as Blair sat up slightly, putting safe, sad distance between them. 

"Dinner?" Blair asked again, his grip lax on Jim's shoulders and this time Jim considered the question for what seemed a very long time before nodding quietly and saying "Great," when he actually thought he should mean something else. 

** 

Dinner moved slowly too, in the soft transition of time that follows a recovery either from great illness or an epiphany. Jim's skin was extra-sensitive, so responsive and needy that again he found himself watching from below, blanketed in calm while air breathed over him, and he concentrated on nothing, letting his mind relax. At the back of his memory he could trace an undercurrent of excitement, a need that if acknowledged went lower and more primal than he'd ever thought about before, at least in this context, but for now Jim preferred silence, preferred to watch and feel and be carried along, content again to let Blair lead. 

Jim hoped Blair knew who was leading. 

Blair cooked, not noticing the silence. After they ate, he made Jim take another draught of zin qai before getting himself a glass of wine and his laptop for company, sitting quietly curled on the couch while Jim half-lay on it, legs curled and semi-conscious. 

Jim was completely conscious of the fact that if he reached out, so and so, he could touch Blair's naked skin. Because Blair's shirt had ridden up slightly behind as he sat forward and typed intently, reading the way he sometimes did, straight from the screen and not printing out because he was in too much of a hurry. 

Jim was in no hurry, just laying there wondering if he should tickle Blair with his toe. It was a free toe; it wasn't doing anything special. 

"Don't even think about it." 

Jim withdrew his foot half an inch from the goal. "What, you're psychic now?" he grumbled. 

Blair took off his glasses and turned, smiling. 

"I have a sixth sense where tickling is concerned, Jim. Call it my area of hypersensitivity." 

"Oh," Jim said, herbal medication and sleepiness making his voice a little slower, maybe a little sad. At least he guessed that was the reason. 

"Oh?" 

"Thought it might be me," Jim explained patiently, since it should have been obvious to anyone, especially the qualified observer-now-detective Sandburg that Blair had a sixth sense, an active, scary sixth sense that told him more often than not exactly what Jim was up to. 

More often than not, but there was still the not. 

Jim yawned and lost sight of Blair for a moment. When his eyes were open again, he saw Blair looking at him with a peculiar expression on his face. 

"You look like I do when I drink your zinfandel tea," Jim said, pleased at being able to catalogue a Blair-impression. Lately that had been so hard to do. 

Blair put on his glasses again and stared at Jim. "Got a little lost there," he said and there was something wrong with that statement, but Jim was too sleepy to care. 

"What did you just say?" Blair asked him. "Not now, before the tea. What did you _mean_?" 

Jim shrugged a little, comfortably letting the couch rub against his shoulder blades. "Nothing," and he smiled blearily up at Blair. "Think I'm going to sleep." 

"Okay," and Blair watched him as Jim snuggled into the couch, one foot out and daringly only a half-inch from Blair skin, because that felt right, felt safe and right now Jim really needed to sleep. 

The sound of keys being lightly tapped formed a counterpart to the slight throbbing in his head, distracting him enough so he could shut down and pretend not to be awake. 

When he opened his eyes again, the throw rug covered him but there wasn't any salad on his face. He supposed he must have dreamed of something, because all he could remember was the sound of soft rain. 

Rain. Water. He could get to hate word associations. 

Jim glanced at his wristwatch. 5 fucking a.m. again, and he was in no mood for a jog. 

Blair was at the table, cheerfully prepped with a cup of tea and wearing sweats. Reading gear, Jim remembered, remembered seeing Blair like this dozens of times in the early morning, before tests and after all-nighters. 

Blair saluted him with a sheaf of printed material. "You're not running in this weather." 

Jim paused on his way to the shower. "Since when did you start sounding so much like my mother?" he asked mildly, not offended but curious. 

Blair pursed his lips, thinking. "Dunno. I guess someone has to take care of macho Neanderthals in case they fade out of existence." 

Jim decided to ignore that for now. "Showered yet?" 

Blair shook his head. "Nah. You first." 

"I'll try and save you some hot water." 

"Thanks," already intent on the notes. 

Jim took a shower; a little surprised that hot water would feel good on inflamed skin. Maybe Blair would know the reason why. 

Coffee was waiting for him when he got out, a steaming mug on his side of the table. Blair looked up as Jim took his seat. 

"I've been reading up on the research Takamura and Jennings have been collaborating on, and let me say, Jim, that this is fantastic stuff. We're never eating seafood again." 

"Even if Simon's buying?" 

" _Especially_ if." Blair handed him the stack of material. "Want to take a look?" 

Jim pushed it away. "Short version?" 

"Short version. There's shit in the bay and people know this. Unfortunately the authorities can't push companies into sinking money into research to combat their waste treatment problems because the scientists on company pay roll come up with a thousand and one ways to prove the studies were ineffective." 

"Didn't Matheson say something about that?" 

"Uh-huh. Matheson's good at what he does. I remember him now." 

Jim sipped his coffee, raising an eyebrow. Blair hated that he could do that, manipulate one eyebrow at a time. "The worm idea is a good one?" 

Blair nodded emphatically. "The worm idea is brilliant and simple. Since the marine worm never moves from one spot, it gets to concentrate all the shit that flows through the pipes, hell it devours the stuff and cocoons itself inside the concentrate. The earthworm moves, but since it leaves shit behind, it provides a brilliant method to check landfill toxicity and outflow from treatment ponds. All an impartial observer has to do is go collect some casings from either end, and voila, a sample of unimpeachable quality that they can run through a machine to check just what's inside. Simple and very effective." 

"Earthworms." Jim shuddered a little. "Why do we always end up with the weird stuff?" 

"You don't like earthworms? Jim, come on man, worms are brilliant! They're nature's little marvels, you know, and by the way I'm pretty certain you were a worm in a past birth." 

"Sandburg, it's fucking 5.30 in the morning. Please don't start with karma theory now." 

"I am not insulting you man, worms are extremely, exceedingly cool! You'd have loved being a worm, see, they're long lived, have amazing regenerative skills and," Blair wiggled his eyebrows, "and they get to have fun at both ends too." 

Jim took a long restorative drink of coffee. "Blair, we are not discussing earthworm sex at the table." Because that was just unfair considering that they'd never even talked about - Jim advised his subconscious to shut up and stay put. 

"Do you know how earthworms die?" 

"Actually I don't, but of course you're going to tell me." 

"Well, yeah, see, because they're practically ageless, and technically indestructible. It's like a reverse metaphor for human existence Jim, being hermaphrodites, they can reproduce on their own; if you cut them in half each half grows another half," 

"How exciting. Eternal existence as a one way digestive system." Jim snagged a bagel from Blair's plate. "Anyway, I've seen dead worms before. When it rains, their holes flood and they drown." 

Blair shook his head. "Not if they come out of their holes. Only stupid worms stay inside and drown, the other kind come out in time and meet other worms so they all live together forever, in happy worm land." 

"You haven't had any sleep at all, have you?" 

Blair chuckled. "Some. An hour. I was kind of caught up in this." 

"You know a lot about this worm stuff." 

"Ayrman's course on neuro-physiological adaptation," Blair paused, but Jim seized the opportunity. 

"The one you guest lectured for? Never told me about it." 

"Didn't think you'd be interested." 

"I'm interested." 

Blair grinned. "Well, considering what the topic was... basically, Ayrman studies the impact of environment on the development of sensory organs. He had a whole bunch of people lecture on the topic, tied it up right from plants to the animal kingdom. I talked about sensory hyperactivity in humans." 

"Sentinels." 

"Sort of. I stuck to Viet Cong scouts and people who taste tea for a living. So, what's the plan for the day?" 

Jim poured himself another cup of coffee. "You tell me. You're the primary on this case." 

After a while he looked up. "Shut the door, Chief, you're letting the air out." 

Blair shut his jaw with an audible snap. "Jim, you found the body." 

"So?" 

"So..." Blair looked worried. "If this is about what I said yesterday, Jim you've got to know that -" 

"Shut up Blair." Jim smiled gently. "No it's not. You're the expert on this case, man; even Simon buys that. So yes, that makes you the primary. Now, what's the plan for the day?" 

"Oh." Blair blinked and reached out for his notebook. "Um. Yeah. Well, I thought we could go see Matheson again. Talk to people who knew Carol Jennings." 

"We're confirming the diving buddy?" 

"The elusive diving buddy." Blair's eyes sparkled. "Bet you a million bucks." 

"You don't have a million," Jim sneezed, feeling his face flush. When he looked up again, Blair had a familiar gleam in his eye. 

Jim held his hands out defensively. "No, no, I'm not." 

"You are." Blair got up and ladled out a cup of already simmering green guck. "It's doing you good, just be a good boy and drink it." 

After exactly three complaints and five sneezes, Jim did, resolutely however refusing to sponge his face with milk. Finally Blair just held Jim's face steady and wiped him down carefully, patting him dry and telling him this was an absolutely necessary procedure until they were certain Jim's body was over the reaction to PCBs. 

Jim supposed that meant Blair was going to have to swab his face again, maybe at least another couple of times. 

He'd have to try and live with that. 

** 

It took all morning and part of the afternoon to establish that Carol's classmates knew zilch about her and her neighbors only knew that she was a sweet girl who was rarely around, didn't party much, and was practically the only person in the house who came back at weird hours because of time spent in the lab. 

"You really need to talk to Matheson," said the fortieth pretty co-ed of the day, making Disney eyes at Blair who smiled back and edged a little closer to her. 

"Walter Matheson?" 

"Yeah," she nodded. "Carol's lab partner. They were _always_ together, you know, like _always_. I think they were going out." 

"Thank you, Miss..." 

"Andrea, you can call me Andy." She batted her eyelashes. "Maybe I should give you my number in case I remember something else?" 

"Er, no, thanks Andy, that's fine, really, thank you." Blair edged them both away, looking up sheepishly at Jim. "Maybe we need to talk to Matheson again."   
"And lets hope _he_ won't want to jump your ass." 

"What was that?" 

"I said, I wonder if he has a class." 

"Funny, Jim, that's what I _thought_ you might have said." 

Walter wasn't in the lab, but according to the students, he normally spent most of his time down at the eco-gardens where he was constructing a habitat simulation. 

The eco-gardens were a couple of dozen acres of vegetation given over to various departments and partitioned according to priority. They found Walter grubbing in a sixteen by ten foot tank full of squishy mud, hands full of something dark and wriggling. 

"Earthworm, Jim," Blair whispered, ignoring his partner's glare. "Walter? Hey, can we talk to you a second?" 

Walter looked up, face loosening. He looked rubbery and pale: Carol's death seeming to have taken a harsh toll on him. 

"Um yeah," he held up a fistful of worms. "Just let me, uh, finish this seeding." 

Blair walked over and leaned into the tank, whistling. "Jim, come and have a look. This is great, wow, how long have you been doing this?" 

Walter flushed, looking pleased. "Um, a year. Carol was hoping to start a tank for her worms too, but they're marine and we had to get permission for heating the water and stuff... besides all those pollutants floating around would've made it hazardous." He looked at Jim. "Uh, we, we're trying to recreate the habitat these worms came from, to see if the treatment ponds make any difference to their development. 

Jim looked at the areas of clearly demarcated mud and nodded morosely. It figured that he'd be surrounded by worm-enthusiasts while his stomach was still protesting anything stronger than weak coffee and toast. 

Speaking of which... 

"Recreate the habitat?" he said slowly. "Uh..." Hello chlorine, goodbye lunch. 

"I am such an idiot," muttered Blair. "Sorry..." 

"No, I'm fine." Jim looked around. "But I think I'll go pay attention from that bench there," he said quietly, indicating one twenty feet away. 

"Okay." 

Jim dialed scent down and pushed hearing up, imagining a net filter over his ears that caught only Blair's voice and the slightly nervous tones of Walter's. Wouldn't do to go deaf after all. At a certain level of sensitivity he was pretty positive he could actually hear grass grow. Luckily that wouldn't be required here. 

"How're you doing?" Blair asked Walter. 

Jim settled himself on the bench and pushed sight up as well. Much better. 

Walter shrugged. "Okay, I guess. I'll survive. Uh, Dr. Takamura says Carol's parents came in this morning. I guess I should talk to them, or something." He sounded lost. 

Blair nodded sympathetically. "It's hard, yeah." 

"So," Walter climbed out of the tank in slow jerky movements, waiting till he had both feet on the ground before pulling off his industrial strength gloves. "What did you want to talk to me about?" 

"Just some more about Carol. Who she hung out with, who helped her collect her samples, that sort of thing." 

No jump in heartbeat as Walter answered. "Like I said yesterday, that would have been me. We went out diving together, and she helped me with the land collection too." 

"Right... there was no one else? No one you can think of who she might have been with?" 

Walter shook his head. "No." 

Jim echoed the gesture. Walter was either incredibly stupid or completely innocent. 

"You're sure about that Walter? Think very carefully about what you're saying." 

"I'm sure." Walter said slowly, "Wait, you wouldn't think..." His voice grew heavy with anger. "How dare you." 

"Whoa, whoa there." Blair spread his hands in an easy gesture of defense. "I haven't said anything, have I? Now I think you should just calm down and help me out here. I just want to find out what happened to Carol." He paused. "Okay?" 

Jim heard Walter breathe, saw him turn away and fling his gloves into a kit bag. After a while he looked back at Blair. 

"I'm sorry," there was a catch in his voice. "But you don't know about Carol. She was... she was special, Mr. Sandburg, she was a very special person." 

"Detective," Blair corrected lightly. " _Detective_ Sandburg." 

Walter nodded again, slowly. "Detective Sandburg. I'm sorry." 

"That's cool, don't worry." Blair let a beat go by before asking gently, "You loved her, didn't you." 

Walter grimaced. "Not that it's any business of yours, but yeah, yeah I did. So?" 

"Nothing." 

Walter exhaled. "Look, if you want to know who's responsible for her death, don't ask me. Ask Mantle. Ask the sons-of-bitches what they did to her. I'm telling you they're who you want to look at." 

"What makes you say that?" 

"What makes me - Jesus Christ, Mr. Sandburg, have you _seen_ what they're up to? They make thirty trillion tons of plastic a year, they leach toxins back into our soil and water, and they refuse to take responsibility for their actions... Christ, they corrupt everything they touch! You of all people should know what I'm talking about here." 

"I'm not sure I get you." Blair followed Walter's line of sight. 

They both looked straight at Jim. 

"That's Detective Ellison, isn't it?" Walter asked quietly. "You've been working with him how long?" 

Blair's breathing hitched. 

"Nearly five years." 

Walter shrugged, keeping his eyes on Jim. "Then you know how I feel, don't you?" 

"What are you saying, Walter?" Blair asked very, very softly. 

"Nothing." Walter turned back to Blair. "Only that if you live and work day and night with somebody for sometime, you end up caring for them a hell of a lot. That's all I'm saying. Or am I wrong?" 

Jim could see Blair's lips part. "No. No, you're not wrong." He took a step backwards. "Thanks, Walter, you've... been a big help." 

Jim stood as Blair came towards him. 

"He knows." 

"Don't tell _me_ the obvious," Blair muttered. " _Fuck_ " 

Jim glanced over his shoulder as Blair overtook him, watching Walter watch them leave, wondering what exactly it was about the boy that didn't sit right apart from his knowing expression and strangely targeted words. 

The scent of loneliness 

Like called to like. 

Jim started walking and caught up easily with Blair. 

** 

"Can we go a little faster, Ellison? I don't think we've breached the sound barrier yet." 

Jim turned into an alley and braked hard. 

He'd always known there would be people who wouldn't believe Blair's retraction. The second press conference had been damage control, a bandage on an arterial wound. He'd just hoped that Blair knew this too and had dealt with it already, because Jim understood and was cognizant of the situation; ergo when he floored the accelerator and overtook three trucks without stopping, it was because he was in a hurry to check in at the PD, no other reason. 

With all these valid arguments at the tip of his tongue, Jim turned reasonably to his partner and snapped, "You want to drive?" 

"You want to stop acting like an asshole?" 

"What the fuck -" Jim gripped the steering wheel hard, reminding himself that he'd paid good money for this piece of plastic and it probably wasn't a good idea to rip it out of the truck. "Can you please start acting a little more professional, Detective?" Completely ruining the impact by adding, "And don't you know any other cuss words besides asshole?" 

"I knew it. I fucking _knew_ this was going to happen." 

"What? Matheson?" 

"And you. Look at you." 

"Look at me? Is there a problem? What, am I repressing again?" 

"Don't you put your goddamn words in my mouth, Jim, I meant something completely different and you should know that." 

"Yeah? And what did you mean?" 

"Fuck this -" 

Jim leaned over and covered Blair's hand with his. "You're not leaving this truck until you tell me what you meant." 

Blair looked at Jim's hand, looked up at Jim and said levelly, "If you so much as think of pulling any macho bullshit on me, Jim Ellison, I'm going to break your jaw, I swear it." 

"You and what army?" Jim felt the words leave his mouth, felt Blair's hand clench into a fist under his, felt the static charge build and did the only sensible thing he'd done all morning. 

He let go and slumped into his seat. 

Next to him, Blair inhaled. Held it for five seconds before breathing out slowly. 

Jim found he was counting breaths, waiting for Blair to speak. But that wasn't fair, was it? To always make Blair lead? 

"Have I apologized yet?" he asked softly, wondering if Blair had his own system of counting beats. 

An inhalation later, Blair replied, "No you haven't actually. What for?" 

For. For yesterday, Jim supposed, for yesterday and for today. For every damn thing and then some - for making Blair give up his entire academic career, for pulling rank and crap on him, for taking him for granted, for complaining about the damn herbal cures, for - 

No. 

"For... making you do all my paperwork?" 

Blair snorted. 

"Blair." 

"Yeah." 

"I'm sorry." 

Jim found he was counting breaths again. Breaths, pauses and the arrhythmia of a heart. He didn't think it could be his, but found it was. Found that his heart was skipping beats while he waited for Blair to speak. 

Jim looked at the alley they were parked in. It was a nice alley. 

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry too." 

A couple of really pretty trash cans in the corner there. 

"Every time I think it's finally over," 

"Blair. Just." 

"What? Detach with love?" 

Jim snorted. After a while Blair did too. 

They sat there for a while, looking straight ahead. 

"Nice alley," Blair said finally. 

"Great view," Jim agreed, feeling his lips curve outward. 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah." He looked at Blair but found Blair wasn't looking at him. 

"Matheson did it, didn't he?" 

"Is that the evidence talking?" 

Blair exhaled. "Trust me, it will be." 

Jim turned the engine on and put the car into gear. 

They reversed. 

** 

The forensics report showed a high concentration of diazepam metabolites in Carol's blood, which could be back translated to about 50 ingested mg of Valium. 

"So you were right about the chlorine, Jim." Blair turned to Serena. "By any chance do you have a sample of Valium on hand? It's not for me, it's for him." 

"Ha-ha, funny, thank you Serena." Jim collared Blair and led him out of the room, leaving behind a bemused forensics officer. "You know, sometimes I think it might be a very good idea to put _you_ on Valium." 

"I just wanted you to take a sniff and then we could go visit Matheson again. Bet you a thousand to one that he's under treatment for anxiety disorders." 

"I'm not taking your money, Chief." Steady heartbeat, slow, almost slurred gait, problems with imbalance. Walter was either under heavy medication or overwhelmed with grief. 

Walter smelled wrong. 

"You don't want it to be Matheson, do you?" 

"You do?" 

Blair pressed the button to summon the elevator. "Doesn't change the facts." 

"Do the words circumstantial evidence mean anything to you?" 

"He'll confess." 

"Right." 

"He _wants_ to confess, Jim. He'll talk to you." 

"To _me_? What about that emotional moment you had over the worm pit?" 

Blair shook his head. "Who was he looking at, Jim? You tell me who he was aiming at." 

"Christ." 

"He thinks you'll understand him." 

The fucking irony of it all was that Jim was this close to believing he actually might. 

"I'm taking that sick day," he announced abruptly. 

Blair glanced at him sharply. "Now?" 

"No, tomorrow. Jesus, yes, now." Jim paused. "Are you coming?" 

Blair looked at the time. "Hardly worth taking a sick day, Jim, it's what, 3?" The elevator arrived. "Anyway, I'm just going to get my other jacket, I left it on the desk." 

They rode up to the bullpen, Jim's uneasiness increasing. 

Walter Matheson was waiting for them by Jim's desk, the sickly sweet smell of Valium clogging the air a good three feet away from him. He must have left the university right behind them. 

"I'd like Detective Ellison to take my confession," he whispered, watching Jim stand still inside the elevator, too far away for an ordinary man to hear. "Is that all right with you, Detective?" 

"Jim?" Blair asked, hand moving up to cup an elbow if necessary. "Jim." 

Jim relaxed, ignoring the wrongness in front of him in favor of concentrating on the correctness of Blair next to him. 

Displacing his nightmares. 

"You were right about Matheson," said Jim, stepping out of the elevator in tandem with Blair. 

Walter smiled as they approached him. 

** 

"I can't meet her parents," Walter said. "There was a message from Dr. Takamura when I got back, saying that Dr. and Dr. Jennings wanted to meet their daughter's best friend." 

Blair had been asked not to be present in the interview room. One of the many conditions Walter insisted on: Walter who didn't hide his hatred any longer, but let it flow freely in Blair's presence. 

It was the one condition that Jim was in agreement with, since he couldn't concentrate with that scent in the air. 

Walter sat with a blank piece of paper and a full pen in front of him. "I'll write it," he promised, "But Detective Ellison has to hear me first." 

Detective Ellison fought down his gut reaction and asked through gritted teeth, "Is there any point asking you why you did it? Why you didn't think of them first?" 

Walter shook his head. "She was leaving me, Detective. Leaving _us_ for _them_." 

"That's a reason?" 

Walter smiled sadly, like Jim should understand him, the action releasing a cloud of something that wrapped around Jim and made him feel physically sick. 

"Start at the beginning," Jim said through a haze of pain and the beginnings of hate. "Start from the top and tell me everything." 

Walter did. 

** 

All Jim could remember afterwards was silence. Huge, vast gaping silence that begged not to be disturbed, an empty patch in his mental records where there should have been memory. 

What there was, was Blair, who waited for Jim outside the interview room, and walked him to the men's room, Blair who watched silently as Jim was NOT sick, only washed his face with grim determination, fighting down reaction and remaining upright. Blair who walked with him through the bureaucracy and routine, through a meeting with bereaved parents and the congratulations of his peers. Blair who appended his signature on the paperwork that named Jim as primary investigator, another damn something that Jim had perforce taken away from him. 

Blair who watched Jim drive home and walk up the stairs to the loft: who sat on the couch while Jim chopped vegetables and cooked for them, filling angry emptiness with tasks knowing all the while that it was Blair who watched him, watched over him and cared for him, making even hollow victories possible. 

And it was Blair who Jim came to, turning the stove off, turning down the lights as he came to the couch where Blair sat and knelt before this friend of his, asking without words for something he couldn't yet give. 

So Blair leaned forward and touched Jim, made the first move and put his forehead against Jim's, letting two surfaces meet while Jim's hands twisted around themselves for hours before making the final decision and creeping around Blair's neck. 

Even then, only after Blair had put his own arms around Jim, hugging the two of them together. Only then would Jim let himself reach out and need. 

"I'd have let you go," Jim said angrily, not holding, not coercing, but only existing because Blair hadn't pushed him away yet, had in fact led them to this. "If you'd wanted to, I'd have let you go, I'd have done a fucking dance of joy if it would have made you happy. You know that, don't you?" 

Blair didn't contradict him; only lied the way Jim wanted him to lie saying "I know Jim. I know." Conveniently forgetting his boxed possessions of two years ago, but maybe remembering a home that was his as much as Jim Ellison's, regardless of who cheated or lied or left whom. 

Regardless, Jim vowed silently. Regardless of who wanted to leave. 

Blair stayed, wrapping his arms around Jim. 

They let dinner get cold. 

** 

"Jim?" 

Jim took a deep breath. 

"Jim, I think we'd be a hell of a lot more comfortable if we were both on the couch." 

Jim opened his eyes. 

He was still on his knees, Blair leaning into him. 

He sat back, feeling suddenly foolish. 

"How long have we...?" 

Blair chuckled. "Zoning out again? Not good, Jim, not good. Um, maybe twenty minutes." 

"Christ." Jim felt his haunches creak. He was getting old. "Dinner," 

"Can wait. Come here." 

Jim let Blair's hand guide him onto the couch, not touching it, but following its direction till he was seated at the opposite end, as far away as possible. 

The air seemed safe enough between them. 

"You want to say something?" 

Jim nodded. "Matheson smelt wrong. His blood. It was funny... like something that didn't fit quite right. Just... wrong." 

Blair tilted his head. "Intriguing. You know Matheson is under prescription medication. He's taking anti-depressants and has memory dysfunction too." 

"You're saying?" Jim's throat felt thick. 

"I'm saying there are other people in the world out there, Jim. Not all of them have to be Sentinels and Guides to exhibit sick twisted behavior." Blair paused. "Though of course it does help." 

Jim barked laughter and felt himself open, felt the tightness in his chest ease. He heard Blair laugh softly too and suddenly it was better, it was all right and he sneezed in relief. 

Bad move. 

"Here," Blair tossed him a pack of crushed root. "Take two and continue talking." 

Jim took two. 

"Carol smelt wrong too?" Blair prompted. 

Jim shrugged. "I could have been free-associating." 

"You could have been," Blair agreed. 

Jim waited and Blair sighed, laughing. 

"Oh Jim, Jim. Man, you _were_ an earthworm in a previous birth, I swear you were. Do you ever take chances?" 

"If this is leading up to a metaphorical explanation of repression in my current life as a result of my past," 

Blair whistled. "You are getting good, my friend. Very, very good." 

"You know, you're entirely too fond of comparing me to a hole." 

"Yes I am, aren't I?" Blair smiled thoughtfully. "You know, it's an interesting fact that some cultures believe you can't progress in your present incarnation unless you overcome the handicaps of your past life. Get rid of all the accumulated karma. What do you think?" 

Jim thought. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

And found himself smiling reluctantly, hearing rain far off, or maybe in his memory as he leaned forward and asked Blair, "Sandburg, is this what you call a proposition?" 

This time Jim counted half a skipping heartbeat, and that not his as Blair leaned forward, meeting him halfway, grinning and saying, "What if it is? What would you do if it was?" 

"I'd accept," said Jim, serious now, slowly closing the distance between them and letting forehead touch forehead, skin on skin carefully leading up to the juxtaposition of lips and contact of breath. 

And as Blair came alive into his arms, kissed his cheek alive and squeezed his arms, in the clap of thunder that followed, Jim thought he felt an earthworm die. 

Or at least crawl carefully out of its hole. 

~ End. 

** 

End Notes: 

Wonderful persons - Kimberly FDR without whose beta I refuse to post. Can never thank you enough for all your words and encouragement. Resham for explaining the metabolism of diazepam and teaching me to use the Pharmacological Index. 

Science stuff - Nereid is a classification that I made up, combining two related families. Earthworms can live for ten years, which is eternity to a worm. 

Mystical stuff - Yes, if you believe in reincarnation, you were probably an earthworm at one point in life, to reduce you to the humblest strata. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust is a ubiquitous concept. 

Author stuff - I intend this story to be read two ways: one as a stand-alone and two, a sort of prequel to Segue. If you've read and remember Segue, you should find a couple more treats in here. Or something. This was my attempt at writing chocolate for myself, but I think it became a curry. Or pot-pourri. See, I wanted sex, it gave me sensuality, I wanted science; it gave me karma theory... you get the picture. 

And as ever, I love it when you talk to me. Dialogue is such fun. 


End file.
